Lycanthropy and other personal problems
by Rachelea
Summary: There are worse things than being a werewolf. Sirius is fairly certain that being a Black is one of them. Marauder AU
1. Chapter 1

Sirius hurried down the wide stone steps, casting a glance over his shoulder at the enormous front doors as they thudded quietly closed behind him. Silently, in fact. He'd learned that one after a close call last year.

This was one night when he _really _could have used James' invisibility cloak. It was also the one night he couldn't ask for it. Sneaking out without the other Marauders was unheard of, by the unspoken rules of their friendship. By third year, even Remus could be counted on to give up his lingering allegiance to school policy in favor of adventure.

But not tonight.

Tonight the others were sleeping soundly. In spite of everything, Sirius sighed with relief. It had been a hassle, getting his friends to shut up and go to bed—if he hadn't known James well enough to take his frequent hyperactive moods for granted, Sirius would have sworn he'd been into Dumbledore's chocolate frog stash again. Peter and James had been itching to go pranking, and Sirius had had to feign a stomachache _again_. Not that that was difficult—in reality, his whole body ached—but even Peter was bound to get suspicious if he fell ill every full moon. Sirius had to admit he'd been lucky, however; after finally escaping the common room, he hadn't had to dodge a single patrolling teacher. Or Peeves. He shuddered, remembering a nocturnal run-in with the poltergeist in his first year. Now _that _had been a close call.

He shouldered his broomstick and walked faster, trusting to his dark cloak to hide him in the shadows. Once he rounded the patch of trees behind Hagrid's vegetable garden he knew he'd be invisible to anyone glancing out the castle windows. Looking back at the dark, towering silhouette of the castle, Sirius reminded himself for the hundredth time why he kept this up, why it was worth the guilt that gnawed more and more at his stomach as he grew older and, despite his professors' misgivings, wiser.

Hogwarts was home. It was as simple as that. Returning to his 'real' home—or Grimmauld Place, as he always called it in his head (fitting, as it was both grim and old)—would drain him, destroy him from the inside out. Even seeing designs reminiscent of the wallpaper made him ill.

Setting foot inside was like being smothered. Every summer. Until the owl from James or Remus that meant he could breathe free air again.

* * *

_Hey Black,_

("Gryffindor?" said James in mock horror, the night of their Sorting feast. "You really are the Black sheep of the family, aren't you?" Sirius had cracked a smile at that; most people's bad puns involved his first name.)

_Parents finally came 'round. How soon can you be here?_

As soon as he checked his moon chart, was the answer. And then it was back and forth all summer, longer and wilder and more frequent visits, until even the infamously misanthropic Orion and Walburga Black conceded, with ill grace, to connect Grimmauld Place to the Floo Network.

"You're the only one I want using this, mind," his father said coldly the first time Sirius stepped into the fireplace and paused to adjust a strap on his knapsack. "None of your _Gryffindor _friends are welcome to set foot in this house…all Mudbloods and blood traitors, like as not."

Reg's friends were different. Reg's friends were always welcome. Reg's friends were perfect pureblood nobility who were sorted into Slytherin and didn't disgrace their families.

_That's because we're related to all of them! _Sirius wanted to scream at his brother. But reflecting too deeply on pureblood roots always brought up uncomfortable realizations regarding his own genetic inheritance, so he resisted.

"Bye Dad. Bye, Reg. See you…hopefully not til' September," he added under his breath.

"Come back before the full moon," said his father jerkily, and walked out of the room before Sirius had even shouted _"Potter residence!"_

If he were in a mood to kid himself, Sirius would have pretended not to know that his family breathed a collective sigh of relief to see the back of him. Failing that, he could have hoped that this last instruction stemmed from some sense of paternal concern. But it was, of course, simpler than that.

It doesn't do to let out that you have a werewolf in the family.

* * *

It was worth it, Sirius concluded, turning back toward the forest and quickening his pace at the glow beginning to outline the treetops. It was always worth it. Werewolves weren't allowed at school; who would want their children near him? This was the only way to do both: have a life _and_ keep his friends safe. And so he would keep sneaking out to the Forest every month. It was better than being cooped up in his magically-reinforced bedroom at home, anyway; there were at least things to hunt in the forest. If he did get a little scratched up or bitten, he'd gotten good enough at healing minor wounds that no one ever had to know.

Unless they chose to materialize out of the blackness behind Hagrid's cabin and grab his arm.

"Sirius Black, what on _earth_ do you think you're doing?"

_ No!_

Sirius cursed and struggled, wrenching his arm out of McGonagall's grasp. There was no time to wonder what she was doing here, or how she had recognized him; she must have seen his face in the castle lights during the split second he'd turned around. Stupid, _stupid…_

Sirius lunged to the side, ducking the professor's outstretched hand. He brought his broomstick down and pushed off the ground almost before he was seated, pushed off hard enough, hopefully, to escape the hand clutching at his fallen hood—

_"Black!"_

It had worked; he was rising, and free—

_"Accio!"_

Sirius cursed again, more desperately, as his Cleansweep dropped back to the ground…before it hit he had jumped and was running, running for the Forest…

It was hopeless, he knew with a sinking heart, to get far enough away, but there was no way McGonagall would listen to what would seem a ludicrous excuse for being out after hours. He had less than ten minutes before the moon rose, ten minutes to make his way as deeply into the forest as he could…she would come after him, of course, but she had the broomstick…let her make it back to the castle before I do…bar the door…

_"Sirius Black!"_

McGonagall raised her wand behind him, and Sirius reached for his own, thoughts of charms to confuse and erase memory fluttering wildly through his mind, knowing all the while it was no good. He didn't have the skill to contend with the Transfiguration Professor, whose magic was pulling him to a stop before he made it fifteen feet. Sirius dropped his wand back inside his pocket and slumped to the ground, trying to stave off despair as he searched desperately for an excuse.

_Mum and Dad would've known what to do,_ he thought bitterly, _even Reg has probably mastered the Imperius Curse by now…_

This was the end. The phrase pounded dully through his head, in time with his rapidly beating heart, which didn't seem to have realized yet that it was pointless…stupid to worry about being expelled from Hogwarts _now, _when his carelessness was going to cost them both much worse if he couldn't convince her…

McGongall was speaking above his head. Dully, Sirius made an effort to translate the sounds into words.

"…don't know _when_ I have been more shocked at a student's behavior! And one of my own House! Mr. Black, _what is the meaning of this?_"

The rage in McGonagall's tone shocked Sirius out of his hopelessness; he _had _to try. The boy stumbled to his feet, taking a step back as Professor McGonagall's wand hand twitched again.

"Professor," he said desperately, "you've _got_ to…"

McGonagall's voice was ice.

_"Got _to?"

Sirius' voice rose in pitch.

"Something terrible will happen…please…"

"Is that so?"

McGonagall's eyes flashed and her nostrils thinned, the very image of a great bird of prey ready to swoop down. It was the same look that had terrified many a misbehaving student into confession, but Sirius, for once, was immune.

"Professor, please, you've got to let me go, I'll explain as soon as I can…"

She swelled.

"You most certainly will, Mr. Black! I have half a mind to bring you to the headmaster's office this instant!"

Sirius was in tears. How many precious minutes had he spent in McGonagall's clutches? The moon must be nearly to the horizon now, there wasn't _time_ for this…even if he were free, even if he had his broomstick, there was no getting out of range of the castle now.

"No, Professor, I…"

"_Mr. Black!_ You, by some astounding measure of stupidity which I would not have thought possible even from yourself, do not seem to comprehend the situation. Allow me to elaborate! _Students who explore the Forbidden Forest after curfew tend to get themselves expelled, if not disemboweled._ Am I clear?"

And suddenly it was. Clear as day. Or moonlight.

"YES!"

Sirius' shout shocked them both. He spoke as quickly as he could, feet already moving toward the castle.

"Headmaster's office, excellent idea, I deserve it, don't I? Come _on!_"

Professor McGonagall's expression became, if possible, even more murderous than before. Doesn't matter. Keep moving. He could hear her taking deep, calming breaths behind him, no doubt oscillating between the desires to make good on her threat or just strangle him then and there.

She hadn't heard what he had. Too preoccupied with shouting at him to notice, in the last beams of light from the castle windows, the almost silent appearance of footprints…the press of three sets of invisible feet on grass…a low, muffled laugh…

Sirius closed his eyes but kept moving. Don't look back.

After a moment—a long, agonizing moment—the professor fell into step beside him.

"I am…glad to see you so acquiescent, Black."

"Yep," muttered Sirius distractedly, speeding up. His bones were aching more and more insistently, ready to stretch and grow and reshape themselves into monstrous form…

They were at the castle, he threw himself at the heavy doors just as McGonagall waved her wand, and they flew open. Sirius picked himself up in the entrance hall and scrambled toward the wide staircase. He was, for obvious reasons, quite familiar with the route to the headmaster's office.

"Mr. Black," panted McGonagall as they hurried along, "why…are…you…in such…a hurry?"

"Not running away," Sirius called frantically, seizing the balustrade of another staircase just as it creaked into rotating motion. McGonagall leapt onto it just in time, steely eyes flashing again.

"Forgive me if I am inclined to disagree—"

Sirius groaned aloud, prayed to whatever gods controlled the universe that his friends were still outside the castle, and took Professor McGonagall's free hand in his own.

"Not running away, see? Now _come on!"_

They had reached the third floor; Sirius jumped off the staircase and was dragging McGonagall along…round one corner, past an alcove containing several suits of armor and a rather hideous tapestry…Sirius could almost feel his bones beginning to shift and grind. He was running flat out now, praying. If he had miscalculated this…if he had put everyone in the castle in danger…

They skidded to a halt in front of the gargoyle.

"Say the password," he frantically begged McGonagall, who was gasping for breath beside him, clutching at a stitch in her side.

"Licorice…licorice Allsort," she wheezed.

Sirius did not wait for an invitation, but sprinted up the stone steps and flung open the door to the headmaster's office. Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, clad in a burgundy velvet dressing gown. His spectacles had slipped rather farther down his nose than usual, and he was examining a golden feather through a large lens. As the door crashed open the headmaster looked up, blinking benignly.

"Good evening, Mr. Black. To what do I owe the very late pleasure?"

Sirius could hear McGonagall stumbling up the stairs behind him, sputtering in outrage, however; he had time only for one sentence, and it was not an apology.

"Professor, I'm a…"

There was a grinding snap somewhere along his back, and Sirius broke off as his limbs began to shake…in his last seconds of control he pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it, shouting _"Stupefy!"_

Then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

"Really!" exclaimed Minerva, entering the office just in time to see her charge drop to the ground. "I find the boy wandering the grounds alone, he practically _drags _me here, and then knocks himself out in terror? Laying aside my doubts about his Gryffindor courage, the boy is quite mad, Albus!"

Dumbledore had sprung up from his desk and bent over the boy. Suddenly he straightened, hushing the deputy headmistress with a quick gesture.

"I need a large steel box, Minerva. Bars along one side, strong as possible; make it Unbreakable."

Bewildered, but knowing better than to question the headmaster, Minerva swept aside a few tables with her wand and set to work immediately as Dumbledore bent over the boy again, carefully moving his wand in a strange, repetitive pattern.

"Is it done?" he asked thirty seconds later. Minerva was astounded at the tension in his voice.

"Yes. Albus, what on earth…?"

"Move aside."

Minerva stepped to the side and gasped. The dark silhouette against the carpet was nothing like her student. Dumbledore swept carefully around the lightly breathing body, avoiding the twitching limbs, and levitated it into the vault; the bars clanged shut just as the creature began to stir.

Not a boy. A wolf.

Minerva clutched at her heart and collapsed rather heavily into an armchair. Dumbledore conjured another almost absentmindedly from midair and did the same. Had she been able to tear her eyes from the box, Minerva would have noticed the lines around his eyes, more pronounced than she had ever seen them. They sat in silence for a full minute before he spoke.

"You questioned his courage, Minerva? I think that was one of the most courageous acts I have ever witnessed."

This was enough to shake the deputy headmistress from her shock.

"Yes, but still quite mad," she exhaled. "Why did the idiot boy not tell us before? Why didn't he—I found him on the edge of the Forest, Albus. He must have been going to—but why didn't he _tell_ me?"

"Would you have believed him?"

"Of course not, this is _Sirius Black._ Oh Merlin, Albus, how long do you suppose this has been going on?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, Minerva." Dumbledore's worried tone carried an edge of bitterness. "Parents like his…Leaving the boy to fend for himself at Hogwarts…no doubt more worried about the shame of lycanthropy than—"

Dumbledore's words were drowned out in a snarl. The werewolf had regained consciousness, it seemed, while the professors were conversing. Minerva jumped and shuddered as the werewolf threw itself against the bars of the—yes, it was a cage—slavering. The lively, mischievous child she knew, the boy with the wide, reckless smile and unruly dark hair, who wreaked havoc during class time, aced every test, and drove her near to insanity during his many detentions—he was utterly unrecognizable.

Sirius' eyes, ordinarily dancing with whatever prank he would be pulling off next, had transformed into something alien. Green-tinted gold now stained the deep brown irises. The pupils had contracted to slits and seemed to promise a predatory savagery. Designed for the semi-darkness of a full moon, they reflected light like a cat's. Curved claws protruded from four bony paws, each larger than a man's hand, and shaggy dark fur coated the enormous, muscular body. Though Minerva was an Animagus herself and knew well the principles behind the magical transformation, it seemed impossible that such mass had expanded from the slight frame of a thirteen year-old boy.

"As I said, Black was heading into the forest, carrying this," she gestured helplessly at the abandoned Cleansweep, which she had somehow retained in her grasp during the mad dash through the castle. "I stopped him, of course—and he was panicking, Albus, going absolutely…"

"Loony?" suggested Dumbledore drily, watching with pity as the wolf threw itself against the bars again.

She shuddered and pointed her wand at the window, where the full moon could be seen rising into view over the forest; a blind snapped shut over the glass.

"It won't help—"

"I know it won't," she snapped, drawing a hand across her eyes. "Albus…I should have listened to him. Another foolish prank, I thought. I should have realized…"

"You behaved as any responsible staff member would have," Dumbledore returned calmly, not taking his eyes from the werewolf. "Please continue; I would like to know precisely what occurred."

Minerva tried to block out the snarls as she thought back.

"I caught him near Hagrid's garden. He panicked and tried to escape on his broomstick, but of course I put a stop to _that…_and then I threatened to bring him here," she recounted slowly, remembering. "And…I thought it was strange at the time, of course—he calmed down almost at once. Practically _dragged_ me here, Albus, I was certain he was plotting to make a break for it or some such thing…I suppose he could feel it coming on…"

She flinched as Sirius attacked the bars with renewed enthusiasm.

"I shudder to think what could have happened…" she broke off.

"It would have happened, if he had not thought so quickly," said Dumbledore quietly. "Certainly he is strong enough to force his way into the castle—but only if the doors were unbarred—"

"—they were. I was outside, reinforcing the wards around the forest. Hagrid says they've weakened enough that small creatures are getting through, and you know the enchantment is most potent when created at the—"

"…full moon. I believe we have, at any rate, solved the mystery of why the Forest inhabitants are so restless as of late."

"I suppose so," Minerva said grimly.

Sirius howled suddenly, a wild, plaintive sound that tore at the heart in mingled fear and pity. Dumbledore and Minerva raised their wands as one and pointed them silently at the door to block the sound from the rest of the castle, but neither moved to silence the werewolf. The howling lasted for long minutes, and then the wolf shook itself frantically and dashed against the bars again. They shook but held.

Sirius snarled, and the yellow eyes glowed with hatred.

"I will stay up with him," Dumbledore said wearily, passing a hand over his eyes. "Your spellwork is as impeccable as always, Minerva, but werewolves are notoriously resistant to magical binding."

As though it had heard him, the wolf bit and scratched at the bars, and then, flinging itself on its back in a fit of aggression, at its own limbs. Minerva watched in horror as the claws scored deep grooves through the heavy fur, accompanied by sharp barks of pain.

"Albus…isn't there something you can…"

"_Stupefy,_" said Albus wearily, raising his wand.

The jinx hit the wolf—Minerva found it more and more painful to think of this savage creature as one of her students—in the eye. It swayed on its feet for a moment, dazed, and then fell with a resounding crash. Within seconds it was stirring again.

"So his hex…" she said, watching without really knowing what she was saying.

"Was for our sakes. To buy us a few seconds. I cannot imagine that any child of Orion and Walburga has been raised with a glowing opinion of my reputation," said Dumbledore in a slightly hardened tone, and Minerva again felt cold anger from him at the thought of parents who would leave a child to fend for himself in this state. "However, he seems to have had the sense to realize there was only one wizard in this castle with the skill to stop him."

"He must have thought you'd…"

"Kill him, yes. That would be the response of most wizards." Albus seemed to realize how bitter his words sounded, because after a moment he added heavily, "Not their fault, of course, Minerva. There are few methods to subdue a werewolf without killing him, none of them well known, and all of them temporary, as we have seen."

"He can't stay at the school."

"Not under this arrangement." Dumbledore turned back to the cage, speaking so softly Minerva could barely make out his words. "He has demonstrated that the lives of the other students mean more to him than his own, but he has been thoughtless and foolhardy, there is no escaping it. He has no idea of the risks involved, Minerva…The forest is vast, but that is no guarantee... If ever he had gotten into the castle…and Hogsmeade on the other side…"

"I dislike the idea of expelling the boy as much as you do, but you are quite right. I can see no way around it."

Dumbledore, for once, was not listening.

"Hogsmeade."

"He can't spend every full moon locked in a box, slashing himself to scraps of fur. We'd never keep it from the staff…What did you say?"

"There's an old boarded-up shack in Hogsmeade, Minerva, remember?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"I suppose…you're not thinking, surely…"

"I shall personally reinforce it with every charm at my disposal. It would be a simple thing to excavate a passageway from the grounds to Hogsmeade. Done properly, not even a werewolf could penetrate the protections."

"Yes, very well, but how would you _keep_ him in the house, Albus? How would you prevent any other student from coming across your tunnel?"

"We guard the entrance with something stronger than a werewolf." Dumbledore said this in the same matter-of-fact manner in which Minerva was going to insist on something rather stronger than tea in the morning. Assuming, of course, that this night ever ended.

She could feel a headache coming on. "Albus, please tell me this plan doesn't hinge on the fact that 'It's perfectly safe so long as we make a rule that all students will obey, because teenagers are so passive and compliant by nature'?"

"Nonsense, Minerva. I also give our students credit for survival instinct."

The deputy headmistress almost groaned aloud at this. However, as another pained snarl drew her eye again to the staggering werewolf, Minerva couldn't bring herself to quash the spark of hope that leapt in her heart for him.

"What did you have in mind?"

**A/N: As no doubt you noticed, this story contains an overabundance of drama. I'm not even going to apologize. **


	3. Chapter 3

Sirius awoke and immediately regretted it. It hurt.

It always hurt, but not like this.

Groaning, he rolled over and pushed himself gingerly onto his forearms. Then he realized several things in quick succession.

A. There were no twigs digging into his back.

B. There was no subdued birdsong from the looming treetops above his head.

C. There were no looming treetops above his head.

D. He was covered in dried blood.

Sirius shot upright. "Merlin!" he yelped. "Did I hurt anyone?"

"Fortunately not," said a calm voice next to his ear. "Your quick thinking prevented that."

"But the blood…" Sirius raised his arms to inspect the deep scratches and then groaned, collapsing backward as his head throbbed painfully.

"I must correct myself; I should say you hurt no one besides yourself," said the voice compassionately. Sirius groaned again, but ventured to open one eye and take in his surroundings.

He was in a large round room—at least, it was large in dimension, but so cluttered with interesting magical apparatus that it appeared no larger than his bedroom at home. Small tables clustered in one corner, holding an array of silver instruments that whirred and emitted puffs of smoke at intervals. Most of the walls were lined with bookshelves, and above these hung portraits of various shapes and sizes, all of which were inhabited by elderly and rather pompous-looking witches and wizards. One of the latter was highly familiar, but Sirius' head ached so badly it felt as though it would split in two, and his drifting attention was too busy flitting from one object to the next to take much note of it. A large, claw-footed desk sat in the center of the room, with a small bubbling cauldron atop it, and he was stretched on a squashy sofa in front of it. Behind the desk was a golden stand on which reposed an unforgettably magnificent bird. Sirius frowned, trying to recall where he had seen it before…

The night before. Of course.

Dumbledore's office.

Sirius groaned, dropping his head back and closing his eyes again.

"Professor Dumbledore," he muttered, without the slightest idea what to say. A spark of panic flamed inside his chest, and again he wondered, dully, why his heart could not comprehend what was so dreadfully clear to his brain. The secret was out. It was over. He was leaving Hogwarts and never coming back. The gloomy grey-green wallpaper of Grimmauld place loomed into his mind.

"I have asked Madam Pomfrey to inform your professors that you will not be coming to class for a few days," said Dumbledore's cheerful voice in his ear. "You will have to catch up, of course, but after that ordeal last night…"

These words took a few moments to penetrate through the fog of Sirius' brain. When they did, he sat upright again and immediately wished he hadn't.

"Catch up with classes?" he asked, hoping frantically that he hadn't misunderstood. "But I'm a…you know…"

"The fact of your lycanthropy has not escaped me." Hearing the incongruous smile in Dumbledore's tone, Sirius felt treacherous hope take hold in his chest. For several seconds it was impossible to formulate a question through his kaleidoscoping emotions. Sirius struggled, and at last emerged:

"You mean I can…"

"Stay?" The headmaster's eyes twinkled. "I think it can be arranged."

Sirius gaped as the spark of hope erupted to a flame in his chest. "How…my parents always said …"

"We shall, of course, have to take the utmost precautions," Dumbledore continued. "I am quite certain it can be managed, however. I only wish you had come to me much earlier."

"Talking of which," said Sirius weakly. "Thanks for not…you know…killing me…"

"Ah," replied Dumbledore gravely, "I thought, on the whole, it would be a cruelty to deny Minerva that pleasure. Pending your next prank with Mr. Potter, of course."

Sirius quirked a smile, but it was gone the next second.

"But Professor, the Ministry—"

"—does keep a register of werewolves, upon which I suspect you are not listed."

"Probably not," Sirius admitted.

"I thought not. Else I would have been informed. And you should know, Mr. Black," the headmaster looked grave again, "that your family's reticence on that subject is by law an imprisonable offense."

Sirius went, if it were possible, even paler.

"Please, Professor," he said desperately. "They didn't…"

"Know?" asked Dumbledore sadly. Sirius shut his mouth.

"Your parents' legal offenses, whatever they may be, are none of my concern. I merely inform you of this to give you a bit of advice you don't need—an irritatingly ingrained habit of teachers, I'm afraid. You would do well to keep your werewolf status from anyone. Particularly the Ministry. Guard the secret with your life, as you have hitherto done—though not at the cost of the lives of others."

Sirius was indignant. "I haven't—"

"When were you bitten, Mr. Black?"

The boy glared at the ground. "Six years ago," he muttered at last.

"Meaning that, for the past two years of schooling, you have managed your transformations by venturing alone to the Forest?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore surveyed him over the tops of his half-moon spectacles, and Sirius felt rather as he had done at eleven years old, as the ragged and patched Sorting hat perched on his head, sifted through his mind, and proclaimed his character for all the Hall to hear.

"Quite aside from the still-present danger to the students and teachers here," the silver-haired headmaster said finally, "my concern is for you. There are things in the Forest—not many, but some—with which not even a werewolf cannot contend. You are very fortunate not to have met any of them."

Sirius thought back, and a few flashes of lucidity sprang to mind.

"I think…I might have."

"You think?" asked the professor sharply.

"I never remember much," Sirius admitted.

"Certainly that is to be expected," Dumbledore murmured, arising from his chair and pacing back and forth in front of his desk. He stopped, suddenly, with a sharp glance at Sirius.

"But I have quite forgotten myself," he said. "Forgive me," passing a hand over his face, "I am rather tired."

Sirius felt another quick pang of guilt as he noted how weary Dumbledore looked in the light of the rising sun; it was several hours after dawn.

"Have you been up all night…sir?" he added quickly.

"It is of no concern, Mr. Black—none at all." The headmaster straightened suddenly, and he gestured at the cauldron that Sirius had noticed earlier. "After the sun rose and you…er…"

_Were no longer trying to eat me,_ Sirius filled in.

"…slept, I took the opportunity to stir up a concoction that I learned long ago, from one of St. Mungo's finest Healers... It has qualities for both dreamless sleep and pain relief. Our discussion regarding the next full moon can wait; I think a morning's rest in Gryffindor Tower would not go amiss."

Sirius stretched, groaning. Sharp pangs had shot again through the scratches in his arms and legs, and his bones felt as though they were about to disintegrate. "I think you're right, Professor."

"And I didn't wish to risk disturbing you, but we should, of course, see to those…"

Dumbledore broke off. Sirius was already running his wand up his arm, wincing as the cuts slowly closed.

"A handy talent," remarked the professor.

"Yeah," muttered Sirius. "Usually they're not so bad here, when I'm in the Forest, but at home—" he broke off.

Dumbledore ladled potion into a small beaker without looking at him.

"It's fine." Sirius stared at the carpet again. "Hurts like Hades the next day though."

"I don't doubt it." Dumbledore handed him the potion, then waved his wand as an afterthought. Sirius looked down in time to see the dried blood vanish from his robes.

"Thank you, sir." His exhaustion suddenly catching up with him, Sirius almost collapsed to the sofa again, but forced himself to his feet. He found his eyes were prickling with tears, and he stiffened in horror. What self-respecting Marauder would _cry_ in front of a professor?

But when Dumbledore caught his eye, he seemed to understand.

"Sorry sir," mumbled Sirius, rubbing a foot unconsciously against the rug. "I just thought…thought I'd have to…m'parents always said…"

"Sirius," said Dumbledore, so gently that Sirius flinched. "What's the real reason you didn't speak to anyone who could help?"

Sirius hunched his shoulders, avoiding the headmaster's gaze. "I don't know, I guess I…"

His searching eyes fixed on the shelf over Dumbledore's right shoulder, and the patchy, faded hat seemed to wink down at him.

Sirius turned and looked Professor Dumbledore in the eye.

"Because I'm a monster, sir. A creature of Dark magic. And that's…that's what everyone would expect of a Black."

Dumbledore turned away rather suddenly. Sirius waited a moment before making his way to the door; it seemed an abrupt dismissal. The headmaster's voice halted him with one hand on the knob.

"I think, Sirius Black, that what you are is far greater than the sum of your circumstances. And that is what everyone would expect of a Gryffindor."

**A/N: There will be Marauders in the next chapter. Oh yes.**

**Also, I scoff at Dumbledore haters.**


End file.
